Nina turned to Sam, but the princess’s eyes had widened at something on her phone. “You won’t believe who’s in Telluride!” Sam answered her own question before Nina could hazard a guess. “Daphne Deighton.”
“Really,” Nina said carefully. It was an effort to keep her features bland and disinterested. Just when things seemed to be going so well, she would have to face Jeff’s ex-girlfriend?
“I know, it makes her look totally desperate,” Sam agreed, misunderstanding.
Sam and Daphne had never really gotten along—though they’d pretended to, for Jeff’s sake. Nina wasn’t sure why, but Sam didn’t like Daphne. It was the biggest thing the twins had ever disagreed upon.
“We need to find someone else for Jeff to date, so that he doesn’t relapse and end up back with her,” Sam declared.
Nina made a strange noise of protest that she quickly tried to hide with a cough. “I think you might be overreacting.”
Sam only smiled as she shoved her phone into her pocket and kicked off. Nina hurried to follow.
Halfway down the run, she took a narrow traverse through the trees, only to realize she’d gone the wrong way. She’d missed the turnoff for the Prospect lift.
Though she’d learned to snowboard alongside Jeff and Samantha, Nina had never gotten the hang of it the way they did. The twins loved extreme terrain, which required sharp turns and serious finesse. While most of the time, Nina secretly wished she could call Ski Patrol to come collect her, and have them take her home in what Jeff and Sam called the “toboggan of shame.”
She turned her board edge-on to the mountain, slowing almost to a halt, leaning back as she scraped down the traverse inch by painstaking inch.
“I knew you’d come this way.”
Nina whirled around, breathless—and saw the prince off to one side, his board slung casually over his shoulder.
“Jeff! How did you …?”
“Because you always miss that turnoff. Every year.” He grinned and pulled her a few feet down, into the thick cover of the trees. Nina let out a startled yelp.
“Shh.” Jeff set his board to one side and stepped forward, trapping her against the broad trunk of a tree. He braced both gloved hands against the frozen bark to hold Nina in place. Not that she wanted to go anywhere.
She could see the cloud of his breath in the cold winter air, mingling with her own.
“Aren’t you worried about being the last one to the lift?” she managed to say. No one ever wanted to be on hot-tub-jet duty. It meant that while everyone else was warm in the water, you had to run across the patio and hit the button that turned the jets on for another thirty-minute cycle.
“I have more important things on my mind right now.”
Still pinning her there, as if he was terrified she might change her mind and snowboard away from him, Jeff reached to unsnap her helmet and pull it off her head. He began trailing a line of soft, teasing kisses along her jawline.
Nina went still, her eyes fluttering shut. Jeff’s lips were freezing, but his tongue was hot. The twin sensations of ice and fire sent shivers of longing through her body, fusing deep within her into something sharp and newly forged. She kept trying to twist her head, to catch Jeff’s mouth with her own, but he seemed determined to torture her.
When Nina couldn’t take it anymore, she reached around his waist to grab fistfuls of his jacket, yanking him closer. Her hair brushed against the tree as she tipped her head back, arcing into the kiss with reckless abandon. In the distance, they could still hear scattered laughter and the whoosh of skiers gliding past.
“I guess we should head down,” Jeff finally said, with obvious reluctance.
Nina’s blood pounded with adrenaline. “You should at least give me a head start. It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”
She gave him one last rushed kiss before setting off downhill, unable to stop smiling.
That night, Nina stood just inside her doorway, rising on tiptoe and lowering back down again. She was waiting for silence—for all the rustling and footfalls and general ambient noises of an eighteen-bedroom house to finally fall still.
At least she was here as Sam’s friend. If Jeff had invited her, Nina knew she would have been relegated to the guest cottage, the way Daphne used to be. There was a twenty-four-hour security guard stationed on the property, which would complicate things if she tried to sneak across the yard back to the main house. She wondered how Jeff and Daphne used to do it, then flinched at the thought.
There was no point in tormenting herself with questions about Jeff’s ex-girlfriend. So what if Daphne was in Telluride right now? Maybe they wouldn’t run into her at all.
When Nina judged that she’d lingered long enough, she held her breath and darted silently into the hallway, tiptoeing along the corridor until she reached Jeff’s room.
“Finally!” He pulled the door shut behind her. “I was worried you might not be coming.”
“I had to wait until the coast was clear.”
Jeff’s room was larger than Nina’s, though decorated in the same style: suede pillows, a braided rope ottoman, cozy cashmere blankets. On one wall hung a series of framed black-and-white photographs that the former king had taken in the mountains.
Nina sank gratefully onto Jeff’s bed, tugging his arm to pull him down next to her.
“Nina,” Jeff began, and the way he said her name, Nina knew he’d been thinking about this for a while. “I still don’t understand all the secrecy. Why can’t we at least tell Sam?”
She tried to play it off in a lighthearted way. “Sam can’t keep a secret. Remember how she ruined your parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary?”
“She didn’t mean to,” Jeff reminded her. The Washington siblings had tried to plan a surprise anniversary party for their parents, but the surprise was blown when the Post got wind of their plans and ran a story about it the week before. Apparently Samantha had gossiped about the party at a brunch with some friends, and another table had overheard them.
“I mean it,” Jeff insisted. “When that reporter asked today whether I was dating anyone, all I wanted was to shout about you to the whole world. How much longer do we need to keep it a secret?”
Nina ran a hand over the red-and-black tartan of his bedspread. She didn’t know how to explain the confusing geometry of her emotions: that she was falling for Jeff all over again, and far too fast. And whatever this was between them, it was still too uncertain, too eggshell fragile, for her to share it.
She took a shallow breath. “I’m just not ready to tell anyone. Once we do … it won’t be just us anymore.” Their relationship would be public property.
“Why is that such a bad thing? People are going to find out eventually.”
“Because they won’t approve! I’m different from the type of girl America wants you to be with, and it scares me, okay?”
To his credit, Jeff didn’t automatically dismiss her objections, or tell her that none of those things mattered to him, the way he had last time. He was silent for a while.
“I can’t pretend to know how everyone will react,” Jeff said at last. “But I don’t care about public opinion, and neither do you. For what it’s worth, I like the ways that you’re different. I like that you’re smart, and ambitious, and that you call me out when I’m wrong. That you talk to me, and not to my titles, the way everyone else does.”
“Wait a minute, you have titles? This changes everything.”
She made as if to push him away, but he circled his hands around her wrists and held her close. His eyes danced appreciatively. “You’re funny. I’ll take two of you, please.”
“As if you could handle two of me,” she scoffed.
Jeff laughed, a great hearty laugh that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest. “True,” he conceded. “I’m in enough trouble with just the one.”
She settled against him, her head tipped onto his shoulder. His hand curled around her waist, not in a demanding way, but simply because it s
eemed to belong there.
“I’m sorry,” Nina said at last, “but can’t I just … keep you to myself, for a little while longer?”
Jeff smiled. “No arguments here. I quite like when you keep me to yourself.”
The wind crooned as it brushed the snow against the windows. It felt like the rest of the world no longer existed: as if they had fallen under a temporary spell, and there was nothing but the two of them, and this moment.
Nina shifted. “You know, I seem to remember that we had some unfinished business from this afternoon.”
“Did we now?” Jeff’s voice was a low rumble.
Nina’s hair fell loose around them, curtaining their faces as she leaned forward to kiss him.
Out there was the world: cold and harsh, full of contradictions and judgment. Out there, he was His Highness Jefferson George Alexander Augustus, while Nina was a commoner whose mom worked for his family. But here, in this cocoon of golden warmth, they were safe.
Here they were just a boy and a girl, kissing in a cabin in the mountains.
DAPHNE
Daphne made slow, wide turns down the last fifty meters, drawing to a halt at the entrance to the Apex lift. There was still no sign of Jefferson.
The liftie, a guy in a Raiders beanie with a scruffy beard, gave her a puzzled smile, as if he knew that he should recognize her, but couldn’t remember what she was famous for. It needled Daphne a little, though she hated to admit it.
Or maybe he didn’t recognize her at all, and was looking at her with such confusion because he couldn’t understand why she was heading up yet again, repeating the same exact run she’d been skiing for the past hour and a half.
This was the first time in three years that Daphne hadn’t been invited to join the royal family for New Year’s, but she wasn’t about to let a small detail like that stop her. She and her parents had come to Telluride themselves, renting a hotel room for the week, so that Daphne could find an opportunity to oh-so-conveniently run into the prince.
Which was why she was here, lapping off of Apex, alone. She’d skied with Jefferson and Ethan enough to feel certain that they would end up on this run: it was their favorite place to ski on mornings like this, when it was warm enough to soften the top layer of snow.
Except that Jefferson was nowhere to be seen. Daphne cast another glance back over her shoulder—and caught sight of a figure in a nondescript gray parka, snowboarding over from Ophir Loop. She allowed herself a slow, dangerous smile. She would recognize that particular shade of gray anywhere.
There were a few other people here with Jefferson: his uncle Richard; his aunt Margaret and her husband, Nate; a protection officer. And, of course, Ethan.
Daphne poled to one side and bent over in a pretense of tightening her boots. When she heard them coasting toward the entrance to the lift, she turned around slowly, for maximum effect. She was well aware how amazing she looked, even in ski gear. Her all-black ensemble—a thin down parka with a hood trimmed in rabbit fur, ergonomic stretchy pants that belted at the waist—was surprisingly chic. No one would know that she’d spent months monitoring the luxury sports websites, ready to buy it all the instant it went on super sale.
“Jefferson!” she exclaimed, in a show of surprise, and turned brightly to the others. “And Your Highnesses, Ethan. It’s good to see you all.”
The twins’ uncle Richard smiled warmly at her, but Aunt Margaret, who was wearing a yellow one-piece ski suit that made her look curiously like a tall skiing banana, gave her a cool nod before deliberately turning aside. She was the only one who didn’t like Daphne.
Well, aside from Samantha. No matter how intensely Daphne had amped up her charm, Jefferson’s twin sister had never warmed to her. Eventually Daphne had given up trying, and treated the princess with the same pleasant cordiality that she did everyone else.
Jefferson pulled out one of his earbuds: he always listened to music while snowboarding, despite constant protests from the king and queen, who worried that it was somehow unsafe. “Hey, Daph. I didn’t know you were in town this weekend.”
She thrilled a little at his use of the old nickname. “My parents and I decided at the last minute. Were you about to head up?” she added, her eyes cutting toward the lift.
Jefferson nodded, and her chest seized in relief. She felt the weight of everyone’s gazes on them as they poled over to the loading station. Daphne was gratified by the flash of recognition on the liftie’s face when he realized that the other person on the chair was Prince Jefferson. Now, at least, he finally recognized her.
With any luck he might phone in a tip to one of the national magazines, that she and the prince were spotted skiing together in Telluride.
She tucked her poles beneath one of her pant legs, resisting the urge to pull the safety bar down. Jefferson always scoffed at anyone who needed it. So she swallowed her fear and leaned back, trying not to think of how far they were above the cold hard ground, rushing on at a thousand feet per minute.
“It’s good to see you, Jefferson.” It felt strange, talking to him in such a stilted way, as if they barely knew each other—worse even than when they’d first started dating, all those years ago. “How’s the trip going?”
“You know how it is,” he said, with a laugh. I do know, Daphne thought furiously. “My mom and Aunt Margaret are constantly at each other’s throats, and Percy and Annabel keep racing up and down the stairs early in the mornings, when we’re all still trying to sleep. We’re pretty much the same as always.”
It stung a little, that it was so apparently easy for Jefferson to be in Telluride without her, when to Daphne this place was indelibly printed with their memories. So much of their relationship had unfolded here. All those long afternoons when Samantha would lead them off piste into the glades, and Jefferson and Daphne would laugh and follow. Stopping at the crêpe stand for a chocolate-almond crêpe, which they would eat right there, standing up, because it was piping hot and they were too impatient to wait. Lingering in the hot tub until their fingertips were pruney, talking about anything and nothing.
The ski house was where Jefferson first told Daphne that he loved her.
The slopes fell away before them as their chair climbed ever higher. To their right, behind a curtain of snow-dusted fir trees, Daphne could see the glittering curves of a run called Allais Alley. Over the steep back side of the mountain lay the Revelation Bowl, its broad white canvas crisscrossed by the lines of various skiers. Nestled between the sleeping forms of the mountains was the village of Telluride itself, the distance making it look like the miniature toy town that the royal family used to put beneath their Christmas tree.
Daphne had realized early on how important Telluride was to the Washingtons. It represented their chance to get away, to close their doors and briefly let down their guard. Two generations of Washingtons had honeymooned at this very house after their weddings. And some of the most famous photos of the royal family had been taken here, like the infamous one of the king skiing with Princess Samantha on his shoulders. He was given a lot of safety lectures after that incident.
Daphne had worried that her skiing ability might be a deal-breaker—that she might lose Jefferson’s interest if she couldn’t keep up with him on the slopes—and therefore had thrown herself into ski lessons with an almost violent aggression. Her decision to ski, rather than snowboard like Jefferson did, had been a no-brainer: Queen Adelaide and Princess Beatrice skied, and therefore so would Daphne.
“How was your Christmas?” Jefferson asked.
“It was great,” Daphne said automatically, though she’d kept so busy that Christmas had come and gone almost without her noticing. It wasn’t as if her family was the type to curl up with cookies and carols, anyway.
Daphne had spent the holiday season at a whirlwind of public events. She’d attended the opening of the National Portrait Gallery’s new exhibit, a welcome reception in honor of Lady Siqi, the new ambassadress from China, and dozens of Christmas carol co
ncerts. She had RSVP’d yes to so many cocktail parties and benefits that she sometimes stopped by five events in a single night. Daphne kept hoping that Jefferson might turn up at one of them, might see her and realize just how much he missed her. By the end, she felt like the bait at the end of a fishing hook, being tossed over and over into the water, waiting powerlessly for the prince to bite.
He didn’t bite. He didn’t even attend any of those events. The only member of the royal family Daphne kept seeing was Princess Beatrice, often accompanied by Theodore Eaton.
If only she’d gone to the opening-night performance of Midnight Queen. She could so easily have been there; she knew plenty of people who rented a box for the season, many of whom owed her a favor in some form or another. But Daphne hadn’t guessed that Jefferson would attend a musical, not when he hadn’t been to a single one in all the years they’d dated. The king and queen must have insisted on it, for Beatrice’s first public outing with Teddy.
They were nearing the end of the lift; Daphne needed to say something now, or lose her chance. “To be honest, it was a weird Christmas,” she told Jefferson. “It didn’t feel the same without you.”
“Daphne …” The prince edged closer on the chair, his dark eyes burning.
They’d reached the unloading point. Whatever he’d been about to tell her, he let it go, placing his back foot between his bindings and slipping down a few meters. By the time Daphne had untucked her poles and come to join him, his grin was as bright and careless as ever.
“The snow looked great over on Giant Steps,” she offered.
Jefferson gave an easy nod. “I’m always game to do Steps.” Behind them, the rest of the group had disembarked from the chairlift. Daphne was relieved to see them ski farther down, toward one of the other, less intense runs that fed off this lift.
Jefferson had already edged down to the entrance to Giant Steps. It was a thin funnel that shot just below the chairlift, and hadn’t been groomed in what looked like weeks. The snow was deep, thick banks piling up on the edges as people turned down the steep middle.
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